


Listening To Hear Where You Are

by Frostfire



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so a while back,  <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://users.livejournal.com/-audrey-/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://users.livejournal.com/-audrey-/">_audrey_</a> posted <a href="http://users.livejournal.com/_audrey/132206.html">this fanart</a> of Kirk in a TOS ladies' uniform, and it was <em>so very compelling</em> that I immediately ran to my Kink Bingo card. At first I was crushed to find that 'crossdressing' was not on there, thus not giving me any sort of excuse to write a story about it, but I wanted to <em>so very badly</em> that I decided to use "crossdressing (outerwear)" as the wild square. \o/ Thanks so very, very much to  <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://dsudis.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://dsudis.livejournal.com/">dsudis</a> for the beta and for helping me find a title (from "Two-Headed Boy" by Neutral Milk Hotel) and for generally listening to me whine about it forever. <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	Listening To Hear Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so a while back, [](http://users.livejournal.com/-audrey-/profile)[_audrey_](http://users.livejournal.com/-audrey-/) posted [this fanart](http://users.livejournal.com/_audrey/132206.html) of Kirk in a TOS ladies' uniform, and it was _so very compelling_ that I immediately ran to my Kink Bingo card. At first I was crushed to find that 'crossdressing' was not on there, thus not giving me any sort of excuse to write a story about it, but I wanted to _so very badly_ that I decided to use "crossdressing (outerwear)" as the wild square. \o/ Thanks so very, very much to [](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/profile)[dsudis](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/) for the beta and for helping me find a title (from "Two-Headed Boy" by Neutral Milk Hotel) and for generally listening to me whine about it forever. <3

“Hey, Yeoman Gillis,” says Jim. “I need a favor.” He grins hopefully.

“Sure, Captain,” says Gillis, turning in his chair. “Rip your uniform again?”

“Nope,” says Jim. “I lost a bet, and now I need your help.”

Gillis raises an eyebrow. “Yes, sir?”

Jim explains. The other eyebrow goes up, but Gillis doesn’t protest.

“Shouldn’t be a problem, sir,” he says eventually. “I mean, obviously I can get one in your size, and the computer’s designed to handle lots of different species, so your torso shape won’t be an issue, either. There’s a couple of slight style variations, depending on the physical attributes of the crewman—you want to look through and take your pick?”

“Absolutely,” says Jim. “Let’s see it.”

Gillis scrolls through a few pictures of female command uniforms, some looking just like Uhura’s except for the color, some clearly designed for other species, but then—

“Whoa,” says Jim. “What is _that_?”

“Alternate design suggestion,” says Gillis. “Didn’t go over well with somebody or other, so they scrapped it almost immediately, but the template had already been built in to the computers, and it ended up working pretty well for a couple of species who are used to lower temperatures, and some non-bipeds. It’s an official alternative option.”

“I want that one,” says Jim.

Gillis casts his eyes up to ceiling for a second. “Yes, sir.” But he’s grinning.

Jim grins back.

 

He tries it on when he gets back to his quarters. The boots are _awesome_ , just like he knew they would be. He hadn’t been as excited about the rest of the uniform before seeing Gillis, but _this_ one is—well, clearly superior.

The skirt flares around his hips. The fabric hugs his waist, clings tightly all the way up to the neckline and down to the cuffs. He tries walking; the skirt sways, brushes against his upper thighs. The panties are…a little constricting, although Gillis did a pretty good job of adjusting for male anatomy. The hose are slick and tight, a constant slight pressure.

“Whoa,” Jim says softly to the empty room. He can see why they discontinued this thing. If he had to wear it every day, he’d be jerking off in the bathroom once an hour at _least_. Tonight is going to be nuts. He may have to just leave off the hose, because he really doesn’t know if he can _stand_ them for that long.

Otherwise, though, he’s going to do this right. He strips the uniform off and heads to the bathroom.

 

So it’s not like Nyota doesn’t think he’s going to go through with it. She heard the stories all through the Academy, she’s seen him in action first hand, she absolutely knows that Kirk is going to walk through that door in a skirt.

Just because she was forewarned, though, doesn’t mean she’s _prepared_.

The uniform, she thinks crazily, really flatters him. She’s never paid any attention to Jim Kirk’s thighs before now, but suddenly she’s just _completely unable_ to take her eyes off them. They’re totally smooth, too. Of course. Kirk never does anything halfway.

She can feel Spock tensing next to her (they’re sitting at a little table, far enough in the back to be discreet, backs to the wall; they’re pressed together, Spock warm all along one side) and she says, “Ever seen anything like that before?”

“Nothing,” says Spock. His voice is calm and level, but under the table, his right hand turns over, a silent offering; she grips it in hers, and together they watch Kirk do a slow turn to show off the uniform to Yeoman Rand.

“Fuck,” says Nyota. Spock doesn’t usually see the point of swearing, but his hand tightens on hers, and she thinks that this time, he gets it.

 

Despite the occasional rumor, story, or manipulated photograph circulated around the Academy, Jim has never actually worn a dress before. Some of the effects are pretty much the same as very tight pants—the way people’s eyes drop instantly to the hip area, for example—and some are a little more pronounced—there’s already been one hand slipped _up_ the skirt, which was a little startling.

The whole exposure issue is pretty ridiculous, too. He keeps reflexively glancing down to make sure he’s not actually naked. He’s glad this part of Aerica isn’t windy. Though on the plus side, he might not sweat the hell out of this thing tonight.

Scotty and Sulu are at the bar, and he goes to join them, but on the way, he runs into Yeoman Rand.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see—Captain!” she says, and her mouth falls open a little.

“Hey there, Yeoman,” he says. “Having a good time?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, eyes fixed on his hemline. “I didn’t know you—I mean, I’ve never seen you—”

“Like it?” he asks, and twirls once to give her the full effect, which is _way_ too much fun.

“You look very nice, sir,” she manages, blushing enough to show through the low lighting.

“Thank you, Yeoman,” he says. “Maybe you’ll save me a dance, if you’re around later.”

“No problem, sir,” she says, recovered enough to drag her eyes back up to his face and smile.

“Awesome,” he says. “Carry on.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and practically runs over to her table, crowded with enlisted personnel, where she’s hauled down into a seat and subjected to what looks like fierce questioning. Kirk grins down at his hemline and makes for the bar.

“So then Riley tells me fencing is the most—uh,” Sulu is saying as he comes up.

“The most what? I didn’t catch that last,” says Scotty from the depths of his scotch.

“Give me something local,” says Jim to the bartender, leaning around Keenser, who’s drinking something clear from a very tiny glass. “Whatever’s good.”

“That the captain I—good Christ,” says Scotty, as he turns around in his seat. “Never a dull moment with you, is there, Captain?”

“Not if I can help it,” says Jim. He turns to lean against the bar, surveying the room. _Enterprise_ personnel make up most of the humans in here; a lot of the others aren’t even going to notice anything weird about his outfit. Jim’s trying to figure out if he’s disappointed or not when he spots Uhura and Spock coming up to the bar, shoulders brushing. Cute.

“No, okay, I have to know,” says Sulu. “ _Why_?”

“Lost a bet,” says Jim, as Uhura comes up on Sulu’s other side. “Female uniform for the night.”

“Oh,” says Sulu. “But— _that_ is not the girl uniform. Uh. Ladies’—female. Female uniform,” he amends, as Jim raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a variation,” says Uhura, picking up the menu. “My roommate,” her mouth twists, and everyone takes the second they always take, when a former classmate or teacher comes up, to look away and wait for the speaker to go on, “my roommate wrote a paper on this design, for her Policies and Regulations class. It was a candidate for the standard female uniform about ten years ago, but it ended up being an option instead.”

“What was Gaila’s conclusion?” Jim asks, interested.

“I don’t remember what she put in her paper,” Uhura says, mouth quirking, “but she did tell me she thought it would be fun for shore leave. She said she’d like to try it clubbing.”

“I don’t think I could agree more,” says Jim seriously. Tonight is going to be awesome. “I wasn’t sure at first, but now I’m totally glad you won this bet. Not that I won’t win next time.”

Sulu says, “That was _you_?”but she’s ordering, and just waves a hand. He glances back at Kirk; his eyes can’t seem to decide where to land.

Scotty, on the other hand, is staring unabashedly. “Pardon me for saying so, Captain,” he says, “but you have some mighty fine legs, there.”

“Thanks, Mr. Scott,” says Jim. He leans forward so he can see Spock around Scotty, Sulu, and Uhura. “So?” he says. “What do you think?”

“I think it was unwise to bet against Lieutenant Uhura,” says Spock. “She is very skilled at statistical analysis.”

“Thanks, Spock, it is pretty, isn’t it?” says Jim. “I particularly like the boots.” He does, actually; they make his calves look great and they could do some real damage in a fight.

The bartender is somehow serving Uhura before Jim; she takes her and Spock’s drinks, detours over to Jim and says, “Spock and I are sitting over there,” with a vague gesture.

“I’ll come by later,” says Jim. “Save me a seat.”

Uhura just nods and heads back, with Spock in tow. Jim frowns after them, wondering what’s up—no parting shot, practically an invite to her table?—but then Yeoman Rand shows up, waiting politely to be acknowledged before she says, “I’ll take my dance now, if the offer’s still open, Captain.”

“Dancing,” says Jim seriously, “is exactly what I want to do right now. Watch my drink, Scotty, and it better still be full when I get back.”

“Hey, now,” Scotty objects, but Jim barely hears, halfway to the dance floor with Yeoman Rand’s fingers threaded through his.

 

Nyota’s given up on discretion for the night and is slumped against Spock’s side, watching Kirk’s skirt flip up as he twirls Yeoman Rand. He’s wearing the regulation panties under it. Of course.

“Have you ever been attracted to Kirk?” she asks Spock suddenly. She’s wondered before, but she’s always had a policy of keeping Jim Kirk out of her personal life as much as possible—until _now_ , apparently.

“Yes,” says Spock, no hesitation. She can’t really see his body language from this angle, but he feels relaxed against her. Nothing he’s guilty about, then. Which makes sense; Kirk is, after all, ridiculously attractive. It’s something she noticed objectively back when she wasn’t taking him seriously, resented when he was driving her crazy, and resigned herself to after she started respecting him. Jim Kirk: attractive. Fact of life; move on if possible, join the club if not.

“Ever fantasized about sex with him?” she asks next. Spock is—now—pretty good at reading her tone of voice, so she doesn’t worry that he’ll think she’s jealous or angry. She’s just…honestly curious.

Still, he’s quiet for a few seconds before he says, “…yes.”

Nyota occupies herself with that idea for a minute. A lot of Spock’s newly-formed control issues are centered around Kirk, no surprise; she wonders if he’d want to surrender control to Kirk, lose control at Kirk, take control of Kirk?

All of the options are pretty hot, if she’s honest with herself.

“I have, too,” she says finally. “A couple of times. Mostly while drunk,” she admits after another second, and feels the barest hitch of laughter in his chest. “Nice to know I’m not alone.”

“He is…provocative,” says Spock.

“He is that,” she agrees. “Right now, he’s provocative all over that dance floor. What is it about that skirt? I want to fuck him _so bad_ right now, and the only difference is that his uniform has a hole in it from calf to upper thigh.” It’s almost a whine. She’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have said that sober.

“I believe,” says Spock slowly, “that the psychological effects do not stem only from the amount of skin exposed.”

Nyota sighs. “No, you’re right. Masculinity, transgression, some subconscious remnant of millennia of female subjugation turned upside-down. Et cetera.” She considers. “Bet he’s hitting you right in the gender roles, too.”

“I have never met a male Vulcan who would wear women’s clothing so casually,” Spock agrees.

“I hate him,” says Nyota, after a minute of thought.

“I understand the reasoning behind the sentiment,” says Spock, his nose pressing into her hair.

 

“Oh, God, I was so hoping you wouldn’t go through with this,” says Bones.

“Come on, Bones,” says Jim. “How long have you known me?”

“I didn’t say it was a realistic hope,” Bones growls, and breaks away to lean over the bar and plead for whiskey. Jim takes the prudent route for once and waits until the whiskey arrives and is halfway gone before opening his mouth again.

“You know, four different crewmembers have hit on me without realizing who I was,” he says, once he’s pretty sure Bones is willing to engage again.

“You look eighteen years old even when you aren’t dressed up for the school dance,” Bones says, because he’s a bitter old man. “I’m surprised anybody ever recognizes you as the captain.”

“Ensign Roth felt me up,” Jim says.

“Ensign Roth’s medical history suggests that he is not a man of taste and discretion. Want me to tell you about what he ended up with during the _last_ shore leave?”

“Come on, Bones, I look hot,” says Jim. “Take a look at these legs.” And to his sudden, secret surprise, Bones does, eyes dropping slightly to where skirt ends and thigh begins. _Victory_. He savors it through the conversational pause.

Bones turns back to his whiskey after a second, stares down into it and finally says, “What’s it like?”

Jim thinks about that. “Weird. Different. Had to leave the pantyhose off; they’re too ridiculous even to wear. Although panties are pretty crazy too, with the equipment and everything.” Bones makes a strangled noise, and Jim grins and says, “I like the skirt, actually. It’s sexy.”

“It is that,” says Bones.

“Mostly everybody’s just staring,” says Jim, tucking that last away to look at later. “Which isn’t that different from every other day, so.”

Bones shakes his head. “You’re a crazy man. Go exhibit yourself to someone else, this whiskey is too good to ruin by paying attention to you while I drink it.”

“Save me a dance?” Jim says, wide-eyed.

Bones snorts. “You’re delusional.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” Jim slaps him on the back and takes himself and his drink off toward Spock and Uhura’s table.

They’re curled up next to each other, chairs pushed together, talking softly, and it’s so ridiculously romantic that Jim just has to stop and stare for a second. Spock notices him first, and sits up straight but doesn’t move his chair away. “Captain,” he says. “Why don’t you join us?”

Uhura is giving him some undecipherable look, but she’s not telling him to fuck off, so Jim says, “Sure,” and takes a seat across from them.

It’s the first time he’s sat down tonight, and his feet are grateful, but that’s almost immediately overwhelmed by the realization that his skirt is so short, he’s really just sitting his mostly-bare ass down on the chair. It’s…disconcerting. And it’s definitely going to be distracting. He shifts a little; the skirt’s at least spread out around him enough to cover the panties, although if he crosses his legs, all bets are off.

“How’s your night been, guys?” he asks, once he’s flipped the back of the skirt out and settled himself as comfortably as possible.

“Pretty good,” says Uhura. “Although there’s this one jerk who’s been flashing his ass all night, I think he’s desperate. It’s sad.”

Jim smirks at her. “Glad to hear you’ve been noticing. What’s Spock think about you checking out another guy’s ass?”

“I think that you may have been given a too-small uniform,” says Spock. “Mistakenly, that is. Maybe you should speak with Yeoman Gillis.”

“This is right,” says Jim, “I double-checked. And I will bet any money that neither of you could wear this thing for a night without showing your ass off to the entire room. It’s why the panties match.”

“I think that line is a signal for more drinks,” says Uhura, sliding away from Spock. “Back in a second.”

Jim watches her go, and turns back to Spock watching him watch her go. Whoops. He tries for a distraction with, “Still think I shouldn’t bet against her?”

“I think you were correct about the boots,” says Spock after a thoughtful moment. “They are impressive.”

Jim can’t help the honest smile. “Aren’t they just?”

 

Nyota sets the bright yellow thing (she forgot the name five seconds after she ordered it, but it’s supposed to be strong) down in front of Kirk, and sits across from him with her own whiskey, pressing up against Spock’s side again. He’s solid and reassuring, and she makes herself smile like she hadn’t been able to see Kirk’s pantied ass when she came up behind him.

“Hey, thanks,” he says, surprised. “What’s the occasion?”

“You being a good sport,” she says, and takes a big drink of her Jack. She’s decided that an attraction to _Captain Kirk_ is something that can only be solved by getting truly shitfaced.

“I’m always a good sport,” he protests, but he takes a drink of the thing anyway. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

“One of their specialties,” she says, which is true; the bartender said so. “So how often have you done this before?”

“What, wear a dress?”

“No,” she says, “sit in a bar and drink. _Yes_ , wear a dress, you moron.”

He points at her. “That’s _Captain_ moron.”

“ _Captain_ moron,” she says. “Hey, can I call you that on the bridge?”

He frowns. “Not unless I really, really deserve it,” he decides. “We don’t want to cut morale off at the knees if we don’t have to.”

Spock is smiling next to her, in the way that doesn’t actually move his lips at all, but sort of lightens his expression just barely enough to see. She kicks him lightly, under the table, and he traps her foot with his. She smiles into her drink. “Okay. Now answer my question.”

Kirk shrugs. “This is the first time.”

She stops with her drink halfway to her mouth. “You’ve never worn a dress before?”

“No,” he says, looking a little affronted. “What, you think I’ve been going around wearing evening gowns every night?”

“No,” she says slowly, “I just—never? Not ever?”

“Never,” he says, and his mouth is doing something interesting, not quite a smile, but getting there. “Why’s this so interesting to you?”

She takes another healthy swallow. God, she is never betting against James Kirk ever again, because even when he _loses_ , he wins. “What’s it like?” she asks.

“Everyone wants to know that,” he says, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass. “It’s fun. It’s different. It’s…drafty.”

She snorts. Spock looks interested by that last, as if he hadn’t quite considered the implications of walking around with _nothing_ between the air and a lot of places that are usually well-covered.

Kirk smiles, finally, and meets her eyes. “I like it,” he says.

She draws in a breath. Spock is watching Kirk like he’s never seen him before; she can see the _does-not-compute_ , looking at a macho man who _likes_ wearing a—“Oh, look at that,” she says, steadily. “My drink’s all gone. You want another, Kirk?”

Kirk looks at his mostly-full glass, looks back at her, and downs three-quarters of the rest of his drink in one go. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

She goes up to the bar again. This time, she just turns around to lean on it while she’s waiting, doesn’t even pretend she’s not looking at Kirk’s ass. He’s sitting a little straighter this time; the skirt just barely covers him, which is—almost worse. She meets Spock’s eyes over his head, gives him a helpless face. Spock echoes it, minutely.

When she gets back to the table, Spock is interrogating Kirk on gender roles in small-town Iowa.

“I don’t know!” says Kirk, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, my mom is in Starfleet, it’s not like she was a nineteenth-century homemaker or anything. Give me that.” He takes his yellow thing from Nyota’s hand before she sits down. “I guess we were a little backwoods in some ways, but the port was right there, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t see all sorts of other types of people any time I wanted.” He takes a drink. “Why are you even asking?”

“I—” says Spock, and stops. He doesn’t usually start sentences unless he knows how he’s going to finish them; maybe he’s had a little more than usual, too. (One of her secret ambitions is to one day get Spock _really really_ drunk. She’s not sure how possible it is, with the half-Vulcan biology, but half of it is human and as much as he likes to pretend otherwise, he _can_ get a little tipsy. And someday, she’s going to see how far beyond.)

Right now, it’s great in and of itself to watch him try to formulate _You are weirdly sexy in a dress, why do you think that is?_ into something that he can stand to say out loud. Eventually, he mostly gives up and just says, “Given your current situation, concepts of gender _are_ relevant.”

“Yeah, and what would it take to get you into a dress, Mr. Spock?” Kirk fires back.

He’s taken aback; it barely shows, but Nyota didn’t spend all those months staring idiotically at Instructor Spock for nothing. “I would never have engaged in such a bet,” he says smoothly.

She tries to picture Spock in a dress, and her brain hits a wall. Well, it isn’t like she needs any _more_ crossdressing men tonight.

“No, you wouldn’t,” says Kirk. He’s watching Spock like he’s a specimen in a lab, which Spock hates; he’s looking down at his drink. “You ever done anything at _all_ kinky, Spock?” He looks over at Nyota. “Tell me he’s at least a _little_ kinky.”

She grins at him, vicious. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You know,” says Kirk, “I think I would. I think that if I win our next bet, I’m going to want storytime.”

“Storytime, Jimmy?” she shoots back. “First crossdressing, then infantilism. Next you’re going to tell me you weren’t kidding about the farm animals.”

And she’s staring right into his eyes, so she sees his pupils dilate, swallowing up his irises as he says, “Remember our first meeting that well, Lieutenant?”

And—that is _it_ , she cannot take this anymore. “Okay,” she says, and stands up. “We’re leaving.” She looks at Spock, who’s still staring into his drink, the muscles clenched all along his jaw. “Okay?” she says, more softly.

He looks up at her. God, his eyes; she can see his answer in them before he says, “Okay,” and stands.

Kirk is looking back and forth between them; his mouth is set, and he starts, “I’ll just—”

She grabs his wrist. “Come on, Kirk.”

His eyes go wide, and he follows after her as she leads them out of the bar.

 

They get a room. Well, she gets a room, and Kirk leans against the wall of the hotel and basically looks like he’s for sale, and Spock tries to blend into the walls but is a little too tense to make it work as well as he usually can, so he ends up looking like a bodyguard. He’s carefully not looking at Kirk.

When they get upstairs, she shuts the door behind them. Spock is doing the thing that would be hovering if he were human, but comes out like he’s just paying very close attention. Kirk is standing very still, like he’s afraid that if he makes the wrong move, all of this will turn to smoke and disappear.

She thumps him on the chest. “Ground rules.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mouth quirking.

“You are not in charge, you are not staking a claim, you are not a permanent fixture,” she says. “We want to fuck you because you look good in a skirt and because we’re a little too drunk to make smart decisions, and that’s what this is. Got it?”

His eyelashes sweep down, he looks hard at the floor for a second, and then he’s looking up at her again. “Harsh,” he says.

She shrugs. “I know what happens when someone gives you an inch.”

That grin again. “Yeah, I can understand how you’d be—”

She kisses him. He gives up the comeback easily, hands coming up to span her waist. She twines her fingers through his hair, pushes her tongue into his mouth; he smiles against her and presses closer. Their bare, smooth legs slide against each other; God, she wants to slip a hand under his skirt.

She pulls back instead, and steps right into Spock, who’s moved up behind her. His hands touch her waist, right where Kirk’s just slipped away, pressing down hard. He’s so tense along her back, and when he moves the tiniest bit forward so he’s flush against her, she can feel that he’s hard.

“God,” she says. “Okay.” She has no _idea_ what the right move is, here. But she knows what Spock wants,and the idea of seeing them together is—“Okay,” she says again, and steps out from between them, so they’re left staring at each other.

 

Jim is not totally sure what he did to get here—wearing a skirt is the only variable he can come up with, and if that’s it, he will be wearing a skirt _every shore leave for the rest of his life_ —but here he is in a hotel room with Uhura and Spock, he’s hard under his skirt, and Spock is looking at him like he’s hungry.

“What,” he says, because he physically cannot stop himself, “the skirt does it for you? I guess you’re kinky after all.” He’s watching Uhura out of the corner of his eye while he talks; she’s put herself in charge, and she could cut off his balls any time she wants, and Spock is hers, so. But she just looks as hungry as Spock does, and isn’t that just _fucking ridiculous_.

Spock makes a noise low in his throat and lifts his hands. Jim takes an automatic step back; he can feel the fight-or-flight in there with the rush of lust. His knee-jerk reactions to Spock are all fucked up, have been since the beginning, and he forces himself to stay still when Spock’s hands land on his chest, to go with it when they shove him hard, once.

He hits the bed with the back of his knees, unbalanced from all the alcohol, and falls backward; he doesn’t resist, even spreads his legs just a little so he ends up splayed out with his skirt up around his hips, and Spock watching him with hot, calculating eyes.

Spock’s hands, he thinks abstractedly, are really, really warm. Vulcan body temperature, sure, he learned about it in xenobiology, but he still isn’t quite prepared for those hot, hot hands spread over his inner thighs, stroking up to the very edge of the tight panties and back down. He bites his lip and meets Uhura’s eyes; she inhales and comes over behind Spock to start working the boots off of Jim’s feet. He lets his head fall back, stares at the ceiling, waits.

When Spock’s hand cups his dick through the panties, he can’t hold back the groan, arching his hips into the touch, as Uhura’s long, confident fingers stroke over his right foot and Spock presses his mouth—burningly hot mouth—to the inside of Jim’s thigh. The groan echoes through the empty room, and he lifts his head again, gets himself up on an elbow so he can _watch_ this, watch Uhura's graceful hands starting on his left boot—God, those boots are awesome—and Spock's dark head down between his thighs.

Spock's _head_ between his _thighs_. Fuck.

And, of course, the skirt pooling—slightly, only just enough fabric for it to do anything like _pool_ –at his hips. So weird, to be fully-clothed but with totally bare legs. He doesn't know how women do this every day; he'd be having quickies in the bathroom every half-hour or so.

He loses this train of thought when Spock slides the first finger under the waistband of his underwear. Oh, fuck, and he almost has a real _expression_ ; Jim can see his face tightening a little, his lips parted, his pupils dilated. And all of Jim's nerve endings are apparently concentrated on his left hip, as Spock's hot, calloused finger starts pulling the panties down. And then another finger on the other side, dragging over the skin; Jim shifts his hips a little, can't help it, he's _so_ hard. But Spock's hands press down, holding him still. That shouldn't be hot, being held down isn't really his kink, but he feels it, a little. Spock of all people can bring this out in him.

Then, with one quick tug, Spock gets the panties down over his dick; now that his hands have moved, Jim can lift his hips to let the underwear come totally off, and he groans in relief as his dick is, hallelujah, freed. The panties slide down one leg, and then Spock is staring at him again. Commando, now, under the skirt. Jim lets his hips fall back to the bed, sits up a little at the same time, and the fabric falls slightly forward to brush against his cock. Jesus. He's pretty sure his eyes are rolling up in his head. This might not be the absolute hottest thing that's ever happened to him, but it is definitely up there.

He revises his count after a second, though, when Spock ducks his head down and takes Jim's cock in his mouth.

Fuck, fuck, he thought Spock's _hands_ were hot? His mouth is burning, wet and on _fire_ , and Jim falls all the way back with a gasp, blinking up at the ceiling and trying not to thrust into Spock's mouth. Hot, hot, so wet and hot, his cock has never, ever been happier, oh fuck he's on his back in a skirt with Commander Spock going down on him, is this a fucking _dream_?

Uhura comes into his field of vision, and he says, "How can you _take_ this? It's like a hot-rock massage or something, Jesus, I can't even think—"

"He's amazing," she says, but she's not looking at Spock. "Look at you, oh my God."

"Like—what you see?" he manages. He's trying really hard not to clench his hands in Spock's hair, but any second now, they're going to come off the bed.

Uhura's eyes are darker than usual. "Yes," she says, "fuck. Yes. You know, I promised myself once that I would never find you hot?"

"I promised myself once that someday you would," he says, hauling up a grin from somewhere, holding onto it despite Spock's tongue sliding along the underside of his dick. "Guess I win this one."

"So, what?" she says. "Going to make me wear the male uniform for a day?"

"Maybe I'll make you wear this one," he pants.

"You look better in that one than I ever would," she says, and she _means_ it, her voice is full of sex, and he forgets about threading his fingers through Spock's awful haircut and reaches for her instead. And, fuck, she comes to him, bends down over him and kisses him on the mouth, tongue sliding in, and he lets himself go and moans against her, pushing his hips into the dark heat of Spock’s mouth, letting them press him into the bed and tongue him until he's ready to yell out his surrender.

When Spock lifts his head, Jim makes a noise of protest into Uhura's mouth, which makes her sit up too, which he feels is really unfair. But Spock is looking at her, and saying, "I suppose you didn't bring supplies, either."

Uhura lifts a hand to her mouth, shakes her head. "I'll raid the bathroom," she says, and flicks a glance down to where Jim has his legs spread open like he's waiting for it, and he can see her thinking about it; she shivers. "Back in a second," she says.

"Going to fuck me, Spock?" Jim says softly, and watches Spock breathe in carefully. "Going to fuck me while I'm wearing this? Spread out like a girl on the bed, cute little skirt, mouth all red from kissing her, waiting for you?"

Spock's mouth tightens, his fingers twitch, and Jim can see his hard-on through his pants. He wonders if Spock's trying not to press a hand against it, if he wants it that badly.

"I bet this is fucking with your head, isn't it," he says, and as soon as it's out of his mouth, he knows it's right. "Seeing me like this. You were asking me what it was like in my family. What was it like in your family, Spock?" Nobody knows better than Jim how dangerous it can be, bringing up Spock's mommy issues, but it has to be part of this—who would have _guessed_ that this is Spock’s kink? He wonders, suddenly, if Uhura knew when she made the bet. He swallows and keeps going. "I bet Vulcan man are fucking _men_ , aren’t they? I bet you've never even seen _porn_ with a guy in a dress before. You think it's hot? Looks like a girl but isn’t—"

“Be _quiet_ ,” Spock says, his voice rasping, and Jim cannot _believe_ he got him to—

"Success," says Uhura, coming out of the bathroom before Jim can be really stupid and actually say something about Spock's mother, and then Spock can snap for real, and fuck him dry or hit him across the face or whatever being that stupid gets you, in this crazy threesome-having alternate universe he's in. All in all, he thinks he's grateful.

She's got something in a bottle, and he's sure she tested every product in there for maximum slipperiness, least absorption, so he's willing to trust her on this. She gives it to Spock, who's about five steps closer to the edge than he was before Jim started talking, and he opens the bottle, coats his fingers, tests the consistency, all in quick, efficient movements that fascinate Jim by themselves, and somehow don't prepare him for Spock continuing them to their logical conclusion and thrusting two fingers deep inside.

Jim makes a truly embarrassing noise and pushes his hips against Spock's hand; God, it's been a while since he was fucked, and he always forgets how much he likes it, between times. But hanging out in a skirt all night has been making him think about it—in that thing, he could have straddled somebody in a _chair_ , fully clothed, or maybe just with his underwear slipped off, and done it right in a corner of the bar, maybe he'll try that next time—

"Spock," he gasps out; Spock knows exactly where to go with his fingers, of course he does, and he's rubbing steadily against Jim's prostate.

"What?" Spock asks, shortly.

"Nothing," says Jim, feeling the grin. "Just wanted to say your name, baby."

"Okay, shut up," says Uhura, and comes over to the bed to put a hand over his mouth. He bites at her fingers, teasing, and accidentally connects when Spock does something particularly awesome with his fingers. She pulls her hand away and smacks him, and he says, "Spock, fuck me—fuck me—”

Spock stands up and shoves Jim a little further up on the bed; the skirt slides down a little until Jim can feel it against his ass, smooth and slick, and he spreads further under Spock's hands and maybe whines a little in his throat, but if he does, it's quiet.

"Look at you," says Uhura again. "You're gagging for it. If I'd known you were this pretty when you take it, I would have done this a long time ago."

"Fuck you," he bites out, "I can fucking enjoy being fucked if I—oh, Jesus," as Spock starts pressing in; he's big, feels familiar—shit, Jim wasn't even looking, doesn't know what Vulcan cock _looks_ like—but pretty soon he doesn't care, because Spock is fucking slowly into him, big hot hands holding his hips—over the skirt—cock pressing in and in and in until Jim can hear that little whine in his throat again, but he doesn't give a fuck anymore. When he looks up at Uhura, her eyes are huge and she's got a hand slowly running down her own chest, toward her stomach, like she doesn't even realize she's doing it. He wonders if this would be enough to get her touching herself—oh, he would love to see that—

Spock is in, finally, all the way, and he pauses for a minute—fucking literally inhuman self-control, fucking Vulcans, _fuck_ , Jim is not going to beg for this—and tilts Jim's hips up, smoothing his hands down over the skirt like he can't help himself. Jim wonders if he even realizes he's doing it. He meets Jim's eyes, and Jim lifts his chin, gets himself under control, and says, "Fuck me." Serious, commanding. Like it's an order.

Spock _shudders_ , oh fuck, and pulls back and shoves in again, and Jim loses the eye contact, head falling back, eyes closing. God, that feels _good_ , hard cock in him, big guy over him, he likes this, he likes it too much. Spock thrusts again, slowly, and again, less slowly, until finally he's moving steadily, picking up a rhythm, and when he uses his hands to shift Jim's hips again, Jim thinks it's just to feel his skirt up again—but _no_ , because the next time he thrusts in, it slides directly over Jim’s prostate, and he stops thinking and just lets himself push back, make noise, get fucked.

 

Nyota’s feeling like she could come any minute, now, and she still has all her clothes on. There’s a hot, liquid sensation all through her lower abdomen, and every time she shifts, her clit rubs damply against her underwear, and Spock is fucking Kirk _right there in front of her_.

She's not totally sure how to deal with this, but getting more naked is probably a good start.

It helps that Kirk's eyes are closed and he can't leer at her when she pulls off her uniform shirt, then her bra. She works her boots off, way more quickly than she did Kirk's. She gets a sort of a thrill when she takes off her skirt—it feels powerful, sort of, like she can take off _her_ skirt no problem, it changes nothing, but Kirk is goddamn well going to be wearing his until everyone here is finished.

When she's just wearing her regulation panties, she steps closer to the bed. Spock's hips are working quickly but steadily; he's getting that glazed look he gets when he's really into it, like he's too focused to remember anything that isn't fucking, like the only logical thing is to _continue_ fucking, until the end of time if possible. Sweat is just starting to bead up on his forehead; she always loves it when he sweats, when he’s turned-on enough, trying hard enough, _hot_ enough to finally show it.

Kirk's head is back against the bed, legs up around Spock's torso, the skirt pushed up until it's almost bunched around his waist. She reaches out to tug it back down, smooth it a little, and Spock's eyes flick up to hers, his hips stutter. She can bet he almost forgot she was there.

He's still watching her when he starts picking up the pace. Kirk yelps a little at one particularly hard thrust, and his eyes fly open. She looks down at him, and for a second he's watching Spock who's watching her who's watching him, and it's this tiny, intense triangle of space, all of them fucking here on the bed.

And then Spock's expression breaks, and he looks down at Kirk like he can't help himself. Kirk looks pleased, so he probably did something; Christ, Nyota could get off on thinking about all the things Kirk can do _inside_. She's going to finger him sometime, she decides, get him open and feel what he can do with those muscles.

Right now, though, he's making Spock pant, making Spock make little breathy _noises_ that are going to make _her_ soak her panties through pretty soon. And Kirk's grinning at her.

"Come on," he says. "Take 'em off."

And really, what else was she expecting to do with them? She takes them off.

Kirk's eyes rake up and down her body, and it's gratifying, a little, because he's too distracted to keep Spock in convulsions down there, too busy looking at her. She reaches down and traces her fingers over his mouth. His tongue flickers out, traces over them.

"So what else can you do with that?" she asks him.

He winks at her. "Try me and see."

She breathes once, in, out. "Okay." And she climbs on.

She's facing Spock, even though she likes being licked the other way better, because she can't _not_ watch this—and now her view is even better; leaning forward a little, she can almost see Spock's dick sliding into Kirk. A fold of the skirt is in the way; she flicks it back, and looks up to meet Spock's eyes just as Kirk reaches up, positions her hips just right, and licks.

She shudders, and Spock's eyes—human eyes, she'd never be able to tell he was anything but human, looking into those eyes—they're all pupil, lust flooding them until they go half-lidded and he thrusts all the way in and leans even farther forward to kiss her. His mouth is wet, and hot like it always is, and she remembers suddenly that it was on Kirk, earlier. She braces one hand against Kirk's hip, almost sliding off against the slick material of the uniform, and threads the fingers of the other through Spock's hair, kisses him thoroughly while Kirk starts tonguing her in earnest.

He's good at it, no real surprise, licking up one side, down the other, sucking lightly and then a little less lightly, taking a break to slide down and thrust his tongue inside. Her clit was swollen and sensitive before she even got her clothes off, too, and it barely takes anything to get her moaning into Spock's mouth.

Spock pulls away at that, mouth shiny, and says hoarsely, "Are you—"

Spock is terrible at dirty talk and he knows it, so he leaves the question hanging, and she shuts her eyes and says, "I’m so _wet_ , so hot, God, watching you got me so hot, I love watching you—” she breaks off to drag in air.

  


Spock’s panting now; he says, “Is he—what’s he doing?”

“He's licking me,” she says, and he is, long wet slow licks, “tongue on my clit—it’s good, it feels like he likes it." She can see Kirk's dick twitch when she says that, lying hard amid the folds of the skirt. "You like it, Jim? You like eating me out?"

He makes a noise into her, and the vibrations drive her up, but he holds on tight, soothes the tickle away with a hard suck that rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. The bed shifts as Spock starts thrusting again, his own hands now tight on Kirk's hips, sweat trickling down the side of his face. When she can focus again, she watches him, playing her own game of trying to read his approaching orgasm on his face. He's almost there, she thinks—he's not concentrating any longer, not _thinking_ about the sex at all, just falling back into that place where Vulcans are just as primitive as humans, filled with want and need and sex, driving to come just like any other animal. She's breathing in harsh pants, watching him, feeling Kirk sucking her clit, sending shudders of pleasure through her; _she's_ going to come pretty soon, and she's only been participating for five minutes.

But she's been wet since the second Kirk walked into that bar with a skirt on, and she knows it, and oh, Kirk's tongue is good. She pushes down, just a little; she won't grind into his face, but she can't help but want a little more of that tongue. Kirk gives it to her, quick, flickering strokes that start speeding up when she makes some noise; God, he's good.

She's watching Spock, feeling the orgasm build inside her; he's almost finished, she knows. She wonders if Kirk can tell.

When he comes, Spock looks up at her, wide helpless eyes, mouth open as he empties himself into Kirk, hips jerking. She can't help it; she reaches for him, touches his mouth and his cheek and rests her hand against his chest when he goes boneless. He holds himself up, doesn't collapse onto Kirk, but his arms are shaking. Oh, God, Kirk's making noise against her again; he felt it and he liked it and he's doing something high-pitched; her clit is throbbing, and he pushes her forward a little bit, slides a hand up between them and gets two awkward fingers into her, sucks hard—oh, God, she's coming. It goes through her like a wave; she jerks against him, spasms. She doesn’t know how long it lasts, but she can hear herself making her own involuntary noises, and it feels like a long time before she gets herself under control again.

While she's still in the aftershocks, she reaches out to Spock, rubs a thumb over his cheek and down his chin. He looks up at her with dazed eyes, and she says, "My turn."

He blinks, looks down at where he's inside of Kirk, and pulls out as slowly and precisely as he does anything; Kirk doesn't make a sound, until she lifts off of him, flips herself around and slides, still twitching from orgasm, down onto his stiff, leaking dick. Then he groans, long and loud—"Oh," he says, and drags in a wet-sounding breath; his face is soaked with her, clear and sticky, all the way down to his hair, "Oh, _God_ , Uhura, I can't—I can't—"

She clenches around him; it feels so _good_ to have him in her, thick and hard, and she reaches down to rub her clit; fifteen seconds of that, and she throws her head back and comes again. He makes a strangled noise and flails out a hand—and Spock, who’s boneless on the bed next to them, grabs hold of it, twines their fingers together. Kirk turns to look at him while Nyota shifts a little and gets into position to start riding him, hands on the bedspread and looking down at Kirk’s face, his shiny, open mouth, his dizzy eyes. He blinks, refocuses, looks up at her.

“Uhura,” he says, “you taste good, you taste so fucking good, I want—” he drags in air, “I want to do that again,” and she leans down, can’t help herself, kisses him. She tastes herself on him, and it’s good, her tongue into his mouth while he lifts his chin and opens for her. She thrusts down onto him, and he moans into her mouth. She has to pull away to really get a good angle, but the second their mouths part, Spock leans in to take her place, tilting Kirk’s face with one hand, kissing him thoroughly.

Kirk whines, and Nyota concentrates on giving it to him, quick and fierce and _enough_ , because he deserves it after tonight, after letting them do this to him. She watches him as it grows, as he tenses up, reaches up a hand to her, grabs on, digging his fingers into her hip.

Finally, he thrusts up, _hard_ , deep into her, and makes what sounds like a strangled scream into Spock’s mouth, and she can feel him coming hot inside her. It goes on forever; he shudders through it, Spock’s hands gentle on his face, Nyota stroking her hands over his hips, holding herself still over him.

When he relaxes, lets his hand fall away from her hip and his head fall back to the bed, she pulls away from him to his other side. They lie there for a minute, all three, Kirk with his eyes closed, lashes damp, panting. Spock is looking at her, and for once she isn’t sure what he’s thinking, but his hand is resting on Kirk’s chest. She reaches out, sets her own hand next to it, fingers touching.

After a while, Kirk blinks his eyes open, looks at her. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she says. Spock’s finger is sliding over hers; the touch makes her shiver, and she wonders what he’s sensing from her. “Okay?”

“I think so,” Kirk says, and he sounds…abstracted. “Were you serious about those ground rules?”

It takes her a second to remember, and when she does, she looks away. “Yes,” she says, “at the time. I didn’t want—I don’t want—”

He’s looking at her, steadily, clear blue eyes. She stops herself, takes a deep breath. “No. I do want,” she says, instead.

“So,” and his eyes flicker over to Spock, who’s watching them both, silently, “we could do this again sometime?”

She looks at Spock too, and he looks back, calm, his fingers twining with hers. “Yes,” she says to Kirk, “okay.”

His mouth quirks. “You just gave me an inch.”

That gives her a first flicker of unease, but she just says, “Wear the skirt.”

  
_end_   



End file.
